Duty, Right and Wrong
by Thefallenheart
Summary: In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war. unending and relentless war. In such a place of a milloin worlds the only thing you can possibly hope to change are the choices you make.
1. Breaking Point

I have several ideas where this is headed and none of them are too sane. May change the rating on it to an M in later chapters for excessive explicit content. Or I might not. Reviews will read, advice acted upon and flamers used to cook marsh-mellows.

Oh, and I apologise for the crappy spelling in advance. Its one of those things. People say 'If you know you are going to make it why do you not try and avoid it? To which I reply 'If I knew what it was meant to be I would not have made it.'

Thank you for reading.

* * *

Torren lay there on his bed staring up at the cracked ceiling from his pit of misery. He did not stir when it started to rain through the broken window in the high walled room. After all, what would be the point? He had stopped being able to feel anything. Not the warmth of sunshine or the bitter wind from the north was his to feel. Not anymore.

He had given her everything. _Everything. _His heart, his time, his soul even his dreams at night were no longer his. No longer his at all. Where once had been the joy of seeing her, and she will remain unnamed, there was now just the bitter ends and loose tatters of nightmares where once had been the joy of life. And yet... and yet... he could not hate her. Not yet. A little piece of him, the piece that was most like he had been, still hoped that he could wake up, and all of this would have been a nightmare. It was the only sensible explanation. He had loved her, loved her utterly. Beyond what he thought it would be possible to feel and remain sane he had loved her. He had done everything properly; he bought her gifts (mostly the shiny soft yellow metal with precious stones in it), he had given her a rose (that he had spent goodness knows how long growing, often feeding it his own blood to make it's flower red), he had taken her out to all the place she liked and then just as he was about to ask her to marry him... she had rejected him. Because she had found somebody else who was better. **The faithless bitch!!!**

No, no. It was wrong to be angry. Best not to be angry. Anger is a terrible thing for one such as he. Best not to be angry. Ever.

The sun was nearly rising. He would have to get up soon and go to his job at the Adeptus Mechanicus re-supply port. No, wait. He wouldn't. They had got rid of him yesterday for turning up and looking drunk.

But he wasn't drunk. It was three days of sleep deprivation, hunger and de-hydration. No point in eating. No point in drinking. Sleep was less restful than lugging the munitions from one crate to the other, which was his job in any case.

Should he get up? Should he get up to go and look for a job to afford... what? Food to eat, so he could see one more day with out his beloved? Should he even rise to go to the blood bank to give blood? Should he rise just to give the world one more chance to open up the heart of Torren Brierstone and rip his mind to shreds with what he saw there, and who he saw holding it.

The astropath. The thought struck him like a lump of lead dropping from the five hundred foot above the ground window the rain was getting in through. He had seen a picture of a wristband that his once-dearest might of liked. So to save time in saving up for it he had got a part time job in the early hours of the morning. He still had to perform that duty. And if there was anything Torren Brierstone was, it was a creature of duty.

The streets along the main market square were always at there emptiest at this time of the day, you could acutely walk without being barged into if you were careful. The snow was falling again, and then he realised it had for sometime. It was bitterly, limb numbingly cold. So cold in fact that the legion of pick pockets and other parasites that normally infested this area acutely had their hands in their own pockets.

Suicide was wrong, he knew that. And he knew the difference between right and wrong and the reason to always try to do what is right. It seemed to be a built-in thing, not some half-baked flim-flam that the adeptus ministrotem preachers spouted. He had never made a bad comment to anyone in anger, because that would be wrong. He had never harmed another person, because that would be wrong. He had always worked for the happiness of others because that was right. He had fallen in love because that was the epitome of rightness. And he had courted and taken care of his dearest to the best of his abilities, she had never wanted for anything. Except a big strong guardsman of the PDF with a shiny uniform, a face and body more pleasing to the eyes and a higher wage.

A single tear fell from his chin and landed on the snow where it froze almost instantly.

He ascended the in-adequately salted slippery steps. And then the shorter second flight just before the door to the adeptus telapathica owned building in front of him. The doors to the main lobby hall were huge and imposing and there specifically to say 'we are so rich and powerful that we can afford to pay for fifty foot bronze plated plasteel doors, now get on your knees and grovel or be shortened some other way'. As he was passing under them he received a shoulder barge from the guard who had had to step nearly two foot to his right to do so. Torren staggered and fell to the ground in an unceremonious staggering trip. The guard sniggered.

"How you doing Feth Face?" inquired the guard in tones of mockery.

Torren recognised the voice. It was a bully he had gone to school with. His name was Garreth. He had stolen his dearest. A brief flicker of homicidal rage flashed briefly across Torren's otherwise kind, if somewhat unremarkable features before his usual blank expression re-emerged.

"I am glad to be working. How are you Garreth?" asked Torren. If you are too poor to have good manners, his mother had always said, then you are too poor to be human.

"I'm just fine Feth Face. Getting married in a couple of weeks." He said glaring maliciously. "Would you like an invitation?"

"I believe is shall be busy." He said and waked away.

The automated supply closet where the data-slates were kept requires that you put your password into it at the right time. It was all part of the crack down that his superiors were having on laziness. If you were late it would not open for you for the rest of the day and if you missed a days work for a no good reason like not being able to get hold of a data slate then you had to find a new job. He was five minuets late. But that was easily solved by waiting till somebody else opened the door and then getting your own data-slate and hoping that no one saw you.

He was just walking away from the door when he heard the all too familiar voice of his boss shouting for him. He was right behind him. He had been caught.

"What is the meaning of this!" The large red faced man shouted.

"Of what do you mean, good sir?" replied Torren.

"Not only do turn up late, but you trail in mud and grime into the Emperors" here he made the sign of the aquilla "holy work place! Explain yourself!"

It was useless. He knew what was coming next, so there was just no point trying to avoid it. "I apologise, good sir. I had not realised"

"Then maybe you will not notice that you now have to find a new job!"

"Please may I be allowed to complete this task first, good sir?"

Here the master of the schola telapathica lowered his voice to a threatening hiss. "Just so long as when you leave I never lay eyes on you again, boy."

"Thank you, sir." Replied Torren to his ex-boss's departing back.

By now his mind had gone numb, as if some mental parallel to the mortal coil was running down. He ascended the twelve flights of stairs between the main hall and the cells where the astropaths were kept.

The corridor looked nothing more than a prison when he got there. All heavily bolted doors and small room. Featureless grey rock-crete walls, and hard ugly lines. A sharp contrast to the splendour of the main hall. There was also the message in that; 'We value the process more than the people, we care not for you, only what you can do for us.'

The 15th door along. Name plate reading Rosolind Thorn. He opened the door and beheld another insult to his revenged mind.

The Adeptus Tellapathica made use often of 'Untouchables'. Blanks who actually possessed a negative of a warp presence. They were a safety precaution in a building with so many psykers. They maybe strong enough to send a message across the inter-stellar gulf but if one of these people stood to close to them they were blinded and crippled and often in a lot of pain.

This one was holding Rosolind's arms roughly leering at her in a disturbingly hungry way. His eyes so intent on her near naked form as to be almost trying to consume her, body and soul. An intimacy that is forced, is as the intimacy of a killers blade. He also knew this to be true.

Maybe if he had not been so intent on violating the young blind woman he might have noticed Torren _before_ he swung the date slate with skull smashing velocity and venom.

The body of the Untouchable crumpled to the ground dead, as indicated by the massive dent in his head, as a stone. It took nearly five seconds for Torren to realize what he had done. He had just committed murder on a high-ranking member of the establishment. The blood and chunk of scalp on his data slate were testament to that. The blood that smattered his clothing was definitely a give away. And yet... he was in a place beyond caring. In this past week he has had everything taken away from him. His love, his faith, his duty. Everything about him he ever thought of as worth keeping. All he was left with now was himself.

_Who are they to judge me. Who are they to tell me what is right and wrong, as if they were some sort of malleable substance that they could bend to their will. _

"Are you harmed good lady?" he asked the blind astropath as he knelt down to unfasten the Untouchables dark blue and black jacket.

The only response he got were sobs of fright.

"Good lady, I do not wish to cause you further distress but I suggest that you don these clothes. We are leaving." He handed her the clothes and turned his back for decency's sake. Torren had often heard that such sins happened in these bleak and terrible places. The screams of victims often ignored by the other denizens of these abominable places for fear of becoming the next victim. This place was evil, a place where minds were stolen and spirits broken and monsters were on the payroll.

Torren risked a discreetly peered behind him to see if she was yet fully clothed. She had not moved. She was just sitting on her bed crying into her hands, her ruined torn clothing smattered now with tears that mingled with the blood of the monster in human skin.

"Good lady, I do not wish to hasten you unduly, but we must depart."

"Why?" The response was quiet and small. A broken thing of a voice.

"Is not the answer obvious? Because they have proven themselves unworthy of looking after you, because they tried to do you harm. So, and I wish I had not to say this, if you do not hasten slightly in the donning of this garb then I shall have to cover you in a sheet and carry you over my shoulder. But as this would be uncomfortable for you and taxing for me I would prefer it if you would accompany me willingly." He then turned around again out of propriety and waited until there was no more rustling of clothing.

As he turned to grab her arm, knowing that all astropaths were blind, she asked if she looked all right.

"Good lady," he said, taking in her long if somewhat messy blonde hair, her deep blue almost purple if useless eyes and rose pink lips "I think it would be deemed impossible for you to be anything less than most fine to look upon." He glanced down at the corpse of the abomination and could not help but wonder if this misbegotten wretch had thought so to, or if it was just random chance and wandering that had brought him to this door at this time.

Avoiding the security patrols of the Astropathica was almost laughably easy. Press every lift to descend to the ground floor simultaneously and then descend the fire escape and slip into the labyrinthine network of back alleys that made up the dismal contrast to the buildings impressive facade.

And now there was a duty, a new duty. He had someone to care for, life was suddenly slightly less uncertain.


	2. On The Run

Rosolind was sleeping in his bed and he had the sofa. Sort of sofa. It had definitely been a sofa at one point in its life, but age had not been kind to it. It was rectangular, soft and you could lie on it, so it must of been a sofa at some point. It was also the only real piece of furniture in the room. The table was an empty munitions crate and the shelves were scrap wood nailed to the wall. The previous owners, for some reason know only to them and the landlord, had set fire to the place on their way out. The walls were still black.

He could hear Rosolind sleeping. He had worried that she would not be comfortable or warm enough. The window was still broke and the bed was lumpy and hard. But she was sleeping so soundly.

Light of morning was streaming through the widow. Or at least was attempting to through the layer of lichen on the outside and soot on the inside. Torren lay in that blissful moment upon waking where you cannot remember whom you are, where you are or what it is you should be doing. This lasted for all of five seconds before the indifferent world supplied him with the answers; you are Torren The Failure, you are lying on the 'sofa' there is a escapee witch in your bedroom and you have to leave your 'home' because the Arbiters are now hunting you.

The sun had just risen. So they must have been asleep for nearly five hours. How long would it take the police to find his address?

He tiptoed into his room, closer to the sleeping astropath and placed a gentle hand upon her alabaster white shoulder.

'Good lady, it is time for you to awake.' The sleeping young woman did not stir. 'Good lady, please could you wake up?' said Torren again with a slight shake of her shoulder. Her eyes opened to revel their wondrous blue. As blue as the sky on other worlds that were only glimpsed as pictures, some distant glimmer of an unreachable Eden.

'Where am I?' she asked with a start at awakening in such unfamiliar surroundings and drawing the sheets tightly around her form. 'Why have you brought me here?' she enquired with mounting worry evident in her voice.

'Good lady, I mean you no harm. Do you not remember last night? You were most grievously assaulted by an abomination and the two of us escaped. You slept in my bed because you were exhausted and so we could make proper our escape as morning broke' he said gesturing towards the window and the pale light of morning. 'Do you remember?'

'But surely such a thing is but a dream; to escape and not be executed for sedition against Him on Terra. But to escape would be such a dream, would it not? Are you my knight is shining armour come to take me away from such torments as my life has promised? Or an abductor to steal away the helpless and take your pleasures of violation before an unhappy death?'

'Good lady, I would never contemplate such a thing. You have met me before, do you not remember? I was the scribe scribbling your words from worlds among the stars. Dear lady, I mean you no harm and in bringing you hear had only your best interests at heart. Were it not for me you would be still in that bastion of despair treated as little more than a piece of equipment to be used and discarded. But you are much more precious than that. And as much as I would desire to stay and tell you the thousand ways that make you beautiful I suspect that we are wanting in time.'

'How so, if this is you home?'

'The enforcers of His law will eventually find this place and their treatment to us shall be disproportionate to our transgressions methinks. So I must ask you to arise and awake and get ready to travel with all possible haste.'

It took a depressingly short time for Torren to pack all the food he had in the cupboard and clothes that he had. As he looked out along the long corridor in both directions. All was empty and still save for the tiny sounds of mice and spiders. To the end of the corridor they managed to get with the astropath's hand being held gently in her guides. It continued to be empty right up to the point when the lift door opened to expose a police filled container.

The shot of the shotgun was heard only as an echo as Torren was already halfway down the first flight of stairs. Another and part of the railing on the inside of the stairway was obliterated. It occurred to Torren, as the third shot removed a chunk of rock-crete from the inside edge of the stairwell, that he was not going to be able to keep up this pace much longer. He had bodily lifted Rosolind of the floor and was carrying her in front of him, her arms were wraped around his neck and he could not see where he was putting his feet. This was not a position he wanted to be in for very long. If he did not tire soon he would most likely trip and fall down the stairs all the way to the deepest vault of this place. And that was nearly 2000 foot below the ground.

The next door he came to he kicked open and dove through to reveal another semi-identical corridor to the one that was identical to the one adjacent to his room.

As the arbiters proceeded along the corridor they spilt up at each fork in the corridor, checking every door and every window. It was unfortunate for one that when he was about to check one particular door that was used to store cleaning supplies the door slammed open and forced the gun upwards and to discharge under his chin, effectively removing quite a lot of flesh and resulting in fatality.

A mad dash to the stairs and a mad decent to the next floor. And the next after that.

The duo emerged from the back door of the residential complex at a dead run, and were quickly lost in the labyrinthine network of back ally's and walkways that made up so much of the city. As they rounded another corner a fact suddenly became apparent to Torren that he had been in too much of mad dash to notice in the first place; Rosolind had managed to run the rest of the way with near no guidance from himself. Yet all astropaths are blind. Time was not given to him to contemplate this fact as a criminal alert alarm was sounded from the building they had just escaped from.

It was some time later that they stopped running, out of breath, their hearts in their throats leaning against a wall slippery with condensation and slime.

'Where would you like to go, dear lady, for it is obvious that my room is no longer a suitably safe abode. Methinks that we should by all probability leave this city, indeed this world and start anew in another place.'

'But where in this Land of the Living is there any place that would accept one such as me? Nowhere will I find welcome, nowhere to call home.'

'Then is it to wander forever our destiny? If such a thing would bring a smile to your lips then a lifetime of uncertainty and wandering will be worth it. I make you this promise that I shall never leave you, I will never let harm befall you.'

'Good sir, that is not a promise you should have to keep. In all probability they are after me and would forget of you if I were to be found. This is not a fault of yours, as you acted only as your heart told you.'

'It was my choice, and I chose to free you from that place. That choice I made freely and without hesitancy, because that was the Right choice. And what is free-will if I can not take responsibility for my actions and accept the results both good and bad?'

The tavern could be described as a dingy place if you wanted to be kind. If you did not then a whole plethora of other words could be used to describe it, the best of them being squalid. Such place crop up the galaxy over. When people operate outside of that circle of candle light that people call law they often need somewhere out of the rain in which to do it, and maybe they would like to drink something as they conduct their ill-defined business. The sort of person who does not recognise people usually owns such places. This is evolution in action, if he ever admitted to recognising anyone to anybody else none of these people would live long enough to pass on their genes. They are often seen either serving something that dissolves spoons or cleaning glasses whilst deliberately not noticing anyone.

All conversation stopped as soon as the two of them stepped into the tavern and all heads turned towards the two of them with predatory stares. Predominantly the stares were at Rosolind. Torren was basically ignored, as he was nothing to look at either way. The barkeep was a short burly fellow with the sort of beard that is worn by people never meant to wear beards. It made him look like he had been interrupted in eating a black cat. As rooms were being rented and prices for stay discussed a large scoundrel that was built almost on orkoid lines slunk up behind them and, leering as he did so, made comment that maybe he could entertain the woman for the night. After she graciously refused his offer thing started to get less than pleasant.

'Look here woman, I am going to be the last the last thing you see tonight and the first thing you see in the morning. Now we can both enjoy this or not, it matters little to me.'

'I suggest you take your interests to somewhere where they might be more appreciated, good sir. The good lady has said that she is not interested, has she not? So why do you persist?'

'Fuck off, you little weed, can't you se me and this tasty looking wench are trying to get acquainted.' He said moving closer and slipping one grime encrusted tree-trunk arm around Rosolinds slender waist.

'I suggest you let go of her whilst you are still capable of walking away!' Torren looked around to see who had said this, and to his dread found that it was himself. What happened next was the barstool coming up to meet his face with a clang that echoed of the stained ceiling. Torren went down like a puppet with his strings cut.


	3. Offer

_Make them suffer! Make them pay! Let me have some fun!_ No._ They will hurt her, is this how you keep your promises? To lie unconscious on the floor when you could be helping. _And what would you have as the price? Licence to roam around like some marauding murderous monster? The slaughter of innocents to quench your insatiable bloodlust?_ Just let me free. Just for a time. Let your self walk in The Shadow of the Beast. Let me feel a heartbeat and skin again. Let me live. _And what afterwards? What will stop you from committing atrocities, parasite? _No fun. Need to fight and maim and rip and tear and drown in blood. Pretty blood. But not if it is not fun. Just let us harm he who harmed you._ No. Y_our jaw is shattered, he is much larger than you and there is a bruise forming in your brain that will kill you in less than a score of days if you do not get it treated. _Don't need your help._ You need a healer. And where do you think you will find one? The ordo hospiteler will kill you on sight and you cannot afford the mechanicus biologicum. Turn her in for the reward and have yourself healed. _**NO! Filth, disease, parasite! Get away from me!**_ But they wish harm to the lady. _So would you, you think I do not know you? _But I would not harm her. Why would I? No sport. One thin, blind woman. Pitiful quarry. I hunger for something more stimulating. I wish for fun with he who insulted us. I give you my word that she will not be touched. _I invite you to take my place. I will walk in The Shadow of the Beast.

And then back up, much to the surprise of everyone, especially the assaulting yob. With a nauseating crunchy sound the broken jawbone snapped itself back into shape and the lump of missing skin reappeared like jam spread over crimson bread. But in some way it was not Torren that had got back up. The difference was not one that could be measured on any device devised by Adeptus Mechanicus or Engineers Guild but there was a difference never the less. Teeth became more noticeable, eyes less warm and friendly, knuckles and sinewy muscles more prominent and the way he faded into the background in his permanent apologetic crouched seemed to be reversed. He no longer looked like someone broken; now he looked like something that does the breaking.

'I'm going to chew out you eyes and spit them in you face! I'm going to tear your nose off and gouge out your sinuses!' he advanced on the startled brute. 'Look me in the godspite eyes you piece of filth!' and with un-Torren like ferocity landed a punch just under the ribcage of his startled assailant, who doubled over with an expression of agony on his face. As the man struggled to stand upright again a knee caught him under the chin and flipped him onto his back. 'You piece of shit upon my boot, you had the audacity to try to assault me? I could take you to the fucking cleaners with one arm tied behind my godspite back! Those gang tattoos on your face? Think yourself a big man because you are in a street-gang?' a foot was placed upon the mans throat. 'Do you feel big now?' The pressure on the foot was increased to the point of pain, where each breath becomes painful and stuttering.

'Torren, No!' The voice cut through the blood soaked mirth and touched his heart. That was fear. He should not cause it to the good lady. That was a Bad thing.

The world returned to its normal drabness and something became once again buried beneath Torren. A light left his eyes, his teeth stopped reminding people of the word 'fang', his hands no more a disguise for claws, his posture once again returned to its constant apologetic shuffle through life. Everyone in the bar suddenly became very interested in what they were drinking.

The room that had been rented was just as people would expect it to be; small, sparse and inadequately cleaned. The bed at least looked like it had been cleaned even if the rest of the room looked like it had not.

They had sat in the small room for nearly a half hour before one of them cracked and broke the silence.

'Good lady, you are upset by my actions in the public room of this establishment. I apologise, I did not mean to cause you distress.'

'What are you?' The fear was evident in her voice.

'I am Torren, what else needs to be known? Just as I know that you are Rosolind. Just as I know it is now my duty to keep you safe. These things are all that matter.'

That night Rosolinds dreams were less than pleasurable. Haunted as they were by a elegant, beautiful, predatory beast made of silver and a hunched up silhouette of man made of broken moonlight standing between her and harm. The ground was soaked sticky with blood and screams of horror and agony haunted everything about her.

She turned around to face what looked like an enormous Judge with a stylised I branded in still burning embers on his forehead. He drew his arm back and grasped a sword made of sooty flames. The fire in the eyes of the apparition flashed with negative light as he drove the burning sword towards her.

'Ssshhh, good lady. It is but a dream.' Torren was holding her hand as she surfaced from uneasy dreams into uneasy reality. 'Ssshhhh. Just a dream, good lady, just a dream.' She was shivering with fright like some trapped wild thing.

'How can you know it is but a dream?' she sounded almost cross.

'Have I not promised to keep you safe?'

'Safe from what? I saw with my taken eyes what you became last night. It wasn't you. Not you as you are now. You have a thing inside you that is a monster made of silver and reeks of blood.'

'I am a monster I cannot deny it. I betray the God-Emperor and no matter how hard I work the beast will always walk in my shadow. Do you know what I am going to do about it? What I know to be right. And right now that means I keep you safe.'

Looking out of the window it could be seen that there was a pale light just peering through the perpetual grey clouds of the capital, thus indicating that early morning was being attempted. Not really day but late enough to make attempting sleep wasted effort. Besides, Torren did not feel like sleep. His dreams last night had been strange and un-nerving; he had been attempting to stare down a metallic, predatory, quadruped of some kind on a field of blood amidst the screams of the dying. It was one of the many dreams he had been having recently that made waking, if not pleasurable, at least preferable. It was probably a dream from his time in the Imperial Guard. It had to haunt his dreams; he dared not remember those terrible tings in the light of day.

With a start he remembered he had left his war gear in his old room. Maybe that was a good thing. He had only ever carried those things to remind him of the guilt he rightly carried for the things he had done...

**NO, NO, NO, NO! Not to think those things! DO NOT GO THERE!**

How can you judge what is right, after those things you did. Bad things. Naughty red things. Did they make you feel good, those ghastly acts?

'Good lady, would that you should wish to don your cloths. I believe we should perhaps purchase fresh garments, fore I have been wearing this attire for too long by the smell and the garb of a monster is ill fitting, I think, for a beauty such as yours.' He did not add that their description was by now known to every enforcement officer and arbiter in the capital by now.

That night after they had finished buying new clothes and food plans were made to journey to the Gateland Mountains far, far to the south. The area was somewhat lawless and the words of The Emperors Light was somewhat dimmer there. The place would have been levelled centuries ago were it not for the fact that it was of so little value. And Torren had friends who moved over there once. It was at this time that Torrens mind, that had been chugging away at a minor problem, finely came to the conclusion and he asked a question.

'Good lady, might I ask how it is that you see, if your eyes are taken as you say they are?'

To his surprise he could see a colour rise in her cheeks. Was this a blush? Had he just touched a taboo subject?

'Good lady, I meant not to cause offence if this subject is not one you feel wholly comfortable with.'

'Its not that. It is just; no one has ever asked such a thing before. At the Telepathica no one cared if you walked into things, just so long as you can receive Messages. I think I can see the things because they put an imprint on the universe and I see the imprint from the underside.'

'May I enquire what it is that you see when you look at something?'

'I can see shape and silhouette and movement of all things, but people are different. Living things stand out in lines of thought and desire and intention like shining statues made of silver sparkling string catching the sunlight, except you. You have strings of black and void entwined upon your silver and it moves by its self.'

Anxious to leave this subject Torren forwardly risked another question. 'Have you ever seen colour?'

'Not since I was a small child. Not since they took me and did things to me.' She added in a whisper.

'Would you like to see them again?'


End file.
